The Epic Tale of Neville Longbottom, PI
by Black Aliss
Summary: Involving Tea, Yoga, Potted Plants of an amorous nature, One Draco Malfoy, several wily police sergeants, and the ineffable workings of the devil.
1. Chapter 1

"Do you have a kiss for me darling" Neville asked leaning over the edge of his tartan blankets. His voice was husky and deep. "Oh dear me, you are looking a bit peakish, some water maybe?"

"Hmmm…I'll be right back, hang in there love"

Neville Longbottom, Private Investigator, debonair ladies man, and one very buff tea drinker padded out of his bedroom, wearing fluffy pink bunny slippers.

The living room was a mess he observed with a practiced eye, newspaper clippings were strewn haphazardly across the deep maroon carpet, the blinds were drawn and he realized he'd left the T.V. on again.

That must have had something to do with his dreams of shagging Oprah Winfrey on top of a double decker bus.

The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes, selecting a wine glass which still had some orange juice in it he swigged it briefly, filled it up with sbome water from the tap and returned to the bedroom.

"There you go love, drink up" Neville told his potted plant.

Throwing open the curtains and letting the small amount of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the dark grey clouds loitering above the East End saturate the room with that horrible Sunday Afternoon ambience Neville bounded from the room, stopping to grab a bath robe on the way.

His mirror gasped in disgust upon seeing his dark matted hair plastered to the one side of his face, and the words "Join the House Elf Revolution" etched into his left cheek from using the pamphlet as a pillow.

There was nothing like sleeping on top of the downtrodden masses for beauty sleep.

By the time he had exited the bathroom, the damp bath towel wrapped around his head and completely nude except for the promotional pamphlet held across his extremeties he had decided that he was done with women.

Done and completely through with them. What were they after all, but frigid relicts of a time when man had no better substitute.

From now on he would devote all his passion towards things that truly deserved his undying love. This of course would be difficult since magnolias were incapable of any emotion besides a perfunctory, "You great glob give me some manure", but he would manage.

After all what was he but an artist meant to be pitied by one and all. And of course his inner torment would lend itself to his carefully cultivated classic PI image.

Whistling cheerfully he changed into a t-shirt with the words: "House Elf Revolution" printed on them in threatening red letters. The I was dotted with a heart; really he thought sometimes Hermione Granger didn't know when to give up.

Nice girl of course, but not a patch on a really good specimen of ferns. Those glossy, glossy leaves.

Making himself a cup of tea he watched a variety of mind-numbing television, including the gardening channel, how to become an absolutely tip top super model (he was sure he could manage it standing on his head), until finally his mind returned to its usual speediness.

Clearing away the mess on the floor (by dint of shoving it out the second floor window) he put his yogic tape "Budha 1,2,3" into the tape recorder and stretched out onto the floor.

Really, the similiarites between meditating and being high were really rather thin. Although he preferred meditation, it saved money and none of that nasty business of needles.

Neville didn't like needles, and apart from that small tattoo of a golden retriever on his hip (like all proper tattoos he had no idea how it had gotten there) he'd had little experience with them.

_Imagine you are sinking into a pool of liquid sunlight_ the pretty pretty voice emanating from the tape said.

Shutting his eyes and blocking out the sounds of Mrs. Reginald Shoe from downstairs trying to give her terrier a bath he let his mind flow.

The voice was so very pretty, so very pretty.

He wondered absently if the brandy he'd dumped liberally into his tea had anything to do with this. Brandy and tea, an interesting combination. Perhaps he ought to alert Seamus to its medicinal benefits.

But right now, he checked his mickey mouse watch, its hour hand was stuck permanently at nine. He had an appointment with a man. Or a women. With Draco Malfoy you could never be sure.


	2. Lotion

A/N: I'm so glad people actually liked it! Well here's the next chapter—so I'll shut up now. And yes. It was supposed to be women. **–**cowers- bloody grammar.

Nia

Neville was happy. Very happy. Almost. Did he dare to think it? _Incredibly _happy. Something he had hither thought impossible without the help of artificial stimulant. Yet somehow he appeared to have managed it.

Truly he was a man among men. It was probably all the sunshine. For once in London the sun was shining (although obscured by the heavy grey clouds. Still it's the thought that counts) and the birds were chirping and they hadn't taken it into their bloody minded pea sized brains to relieve themselves on his mode of transportation.

Pulling the cream colored tarp off of said mode he regarded his vehicle with a critical eye.

Sir Galahad was a sleek red with slitted headlights that seemed almost catlike. Not to mention the incredibly spiffy horn. It went toot.

He was very proud of it.

It seemed to him to scream Private Detective in a very soft voice in a dark room a thousand miles from nowhere. After all nothing says more like less.

True the fake leather seat hurt his gluteus maximus. But there were prices to be paid for fashion 20.40 to be precise. Anyway it was nothing compared to the feeling when you got on that thing and felt the power surging through you, that was like no high he'd ever had.

Not to mention the horn.

It was really the horn that made it all worthwhile. Checking his watch (again forgetting it was broken) he realized he was almost late for his appointment, hopping on his bike he pedaled furiously down the street leaving skid marks in his path and scaring several wayward pigeons out of existence.

Oh yes. Life was _good_.

In stark opposition a man lay flat out on his back in an apartment not far from the emotionally scarred pigeons. He was currently assembling a list of reasons why he hated the universes.

It started with:

He had a hangover 

And working down from there. Despite his rumpled and admittedly autrocious state this man was no regular hobo. Nope. This was a man who was accustomed to sleeping on silk sheets, eating very small hors d'ouvers, and who considered not drinking martinis by the gallon not worth the effort.

Yes ladies and gentleman this man who was currently plotting the downfall of the known universe was none other than Mr. Draco Malfoy---the Second.

His head _hurt_.

"Good morning" Neville greeted the woman at the desk with a brightly fixed smile. She might be a woman, and women might be the scurge of the earth but that didn't give him any excuse to be rude.

Besides his gram would have beat the shi—stuffing out of him.

The receptionist who was currently considering changing her fingernail color from _Blood Red Sun_ to _Crimson Sunset_ looked up to see a dark haired man with his hair flopping over his face dressed in a white t-shirt with a light blue tie and a bicycling helmet under his arm.

This did not inspire confidence. She thought briefly of the headlines in that mornings newspaper: _Mad Cyclist Decimates Attendant in Mad Larceny Attempt!_

Well that clinched it. Crimson Sunset it was. She wasn't going to be seen in a coffin wearing last year's colors.

Neville nodded at her still smiling. It was a rather odd smile. "I have an appointment with Mr. Malfoy" Neville said.

Ah ha. The receptionist glanced down at her paper. 2 O'clock with Mr. Malfoy. Well Malfoy or rather _Draco_ was a queer one. Literally.

She scrutinized Neville carefully looking for signs of such strangeness. Was that a star trek shirt peering out under his button up shirt?

"Go right on up, love. Left straight on and then right" Neville took a mint. "Thank you. Have a nice day" He continued courteously heading for the elevators.

She felt oddly cheated. That was her line.

Tick Tock Tick Tock 

Neville was shocked. How was it possible that he had been living in the muggle world all this time and not realized the importance of trashy soap operas?

Usually he just watched the discovery channel. (And trust me two testerone charged rhinos charging at each other can give anyone a boost).

Yet somehow he had missed what was apparently the great English pastime besides drinking tea (something he was whole heartedly in favor of).

He wondered if that was the reason he had developed inferior social skills. He'd better start taping some immediately.

_Tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick Tick Tock_.

Malfoy was late. Getting up silently and placing the magazine on a coffee table he tip toed to the door. No sounds were emanating from it.

He knocked on the door. You had to knock when calling on Malfoy.

Because Malfoy was gay. Not just gay. Not the comforting hufflepuffian gay like Ernie. But notoriously gay. Which meant he had no aversion to showing his bare buttocks to the paparazzi (which Neville believed to be a kind of Turkish pastry).

Twisting the doorknob he opened the oak door a crack. It was then that the body that had been leaning on the other side fell on top of him with a thud.


	3. Bottoms UP

A/N: Well turns out I had this sitting around for forever and a day, and figured I'd post it not having anything better to do. This doesn't mean the story is active by the way...

The sergeant, Neville reflected thoughtfully, was being rather insensitive. He seemed to have a lot of unresolved sexual tension.

The sergeant grunting under the admittedly nerve racking gaze of Neville, shifted nervously. He hadn't really been trained for this subtle stuff. His forte was more: Did you do it? Are you _Sure_ you didn't do it? Ya? Well I don't believe you. Let's try that again, shall we?

"Occupation?" He said gruffly, pulling out a pad of paper, and licking the tip of his quill gently.

Neville paused for a moment scrutinizing the man, "Gyspy"

The Sergeant opened his mouth but thought better of it.

"Age?"

"By the Zephoriac Religion I'm 290"

The sergeant almost let out a squeak of anger. Neville nodded approvingly, holding tension in wasn't healthy for one's 4 quarters.

"Place of Residency"

"The Earth, The Solar System, The Unfashionable Side of the Spiral, The Milkyway, A Universe?"

"A Universe?" The sergeant queried him.

Neville nodded.

Vincent grunted again.

Neville wondered if he'd been molested by a pig as a young child.

Reaching into his backpack pulled out a leaflet and handed it to the sergeant, patting the back of the man's hand gently.  
It read: "Solving Life's Problems the Natural Way---Tilling the Soil". "Amazing what a good stress reliever gardening is" Neville told him gently. "Especially greens. Nothing like the feeling of eating good old home grown vegetables" He nodded sagely. "I'd try it if I were you"

The sergeant who was beginning to feel out of his depth (when a suspect is shoved in a room with a large light and the face of Sgt. Crabbe glaring at them they're not supposed to be concerned with organic gardening) glanced at it.

It had a picture of can-can dancing asparaguses.

Controlling his impulse to rip the paper into shreds Vincent Crabbe Sgt. of the London Magical Police Branch carefully put it down. "No Sir. I do not want to solve my life problems the natural way" He thought: I'd rather do it the unnatural way by beating the crap out of you...Sir.

"Once again. Why did you have an appointment with Mr. Malfoy, Sir" Neville shrugged, "Who knows anything in this life, man" He said with a world weary sigh.

"He called me, I came, they called it _desssstiiinyyyy_" Neville crooned strumming on an imaginary guitar.

"Sir. Please try to be serious"

Rolling his eyes slightly Neville nodded. "At approx. 10 am this morning Mr. Malfoy (or a very good imitation) called my house number requesting an appointment at O'14 hours. This rendezvous was to take place at his place of business. At approx 0'14 hours exactly I came to keep my appointment and was intercepted by a receptionist wearing a small tag that said: "Brittney" and who looked like a bunny that was bitten by a vampire. Upon making my escape I found my way to the waiting room where I waited for approx. 30 minutes. Mr. Malfoy did not show. I opened the door to check on him where this laddie over here" Neville waved at the body.

"Made his entrance into this week's version of the Teletubbies"

"Ho Ho. A rendevouz eh? Exactly what was this concerning?" The sergeant let the bait dangle for a moment, _everyone _knew about Malfoy.

"Dunno" Neville shrugged. "I was asleep when he rang"

Saddened by this apparent lack of incriminating information Crabbe told him politely, "Wait here Sir, I need to fetch my superior."

10 minutes later a slender girl with a no nonsense expression and a black braid hanging down his back bounded into the room and wrapped Neville in a rib cracking hug. The sergeant who had been following her looked slightly disgruntled.

"You know the suspect M'aam" He said emphasizing the word. Parvati raised her eyebrows, gave Neville a pat on the cheek and turned to face him.

"Know him, of course I know _Nev_. Who doesn't?"

"Neville" The sergeant's face whitened. "You mean Neville LONGBOTTOM? THE Neville Longbottom?"

"How many people have last names with bottom in them Vince?" Parvati asked punching Neville's arm playfully.

"But. But. He told me his name was Bertrand Von Henderspiker"

Parvati looked at Neville.

He blushed.

"You have to admit" He commented. "It's got style"


End file.
